


Unexpected

by DragonxFox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: College Student Sam, Dark, Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Serial Killer Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:18:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1592981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonxFox/pseuds/DragonxFox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's everything Sam feared and nothing he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Can I get like murderer dean who busted out to get to Sammy by [dykeadellic](http://dykeadellic.tumblr.com/).

Sam runs his fingers through Jess’ hair. She’s sleeping, as far gone to the world as ever. The clock lets him know that it’s a little past two, but sleep’s been evading him all week. He keeps excusing it on nerves for his interview on Monday, repeating it in his head so often that he’s actually starting to believe it, too.

When he closes his eyes, he can see Jess smiling at him. And that’s easing some of the tension from his shoulders already, because her smile is always so open; the way it almost never was with his brother or Dad. They’ve never been together on this night, though.

He’s always stayed away from her and everyone else he knows because it’s the anniversary of his brother’s imprisonment. And on these nights, he’s not the college boy they all know. He goes back to being Sam Winchester, a hunter, and Dean’s little brother.

His mind becomes a horrid mess because he wants his brother – Dean, God, please Dean, come back – but not as much as he wants this new life. Where he doesn’t get stared at for too long by his older brother and lives in a college dorm instead of random run-down motels. Where he can choose when he wants to be near or out of sight and get away with not replying to a call instead of having Dean nag him to be more responsible, to pick up his phone and stop flirting with those girls.

But it’s been four years since Dean’s been the one in charge. Four years since his brother got caught by the feds. All thanks to an anonymous tip – a tip that took the feds another two months to do anything about. Because his brother, his Dean, wasn’t just a hunter at that point. He was a killer and anyone who got too close to them, anyone who got too close to Sam became a threat.

He was sixteen the first time his brother got angry. It didn’t make sense to Sam, because Dean wanted him to go to class – knew it made Sam happy and nearly went out of his way to keep Sam happy so long as it wasn’t interfering with what their Dad wanted – but soon after Sam got his first girlfriend Emily, Dean’s attitude changed.

He noticed it mostly when they trained. Dean’s hands were suddenly rougher, marking his hips and arms with fingerprints whenever they wrestled. The way he almost always ended up in a lock-position whenever they disagreed about things, even if their issue was what to watch on TV when their Dad wasn’t home.

Sam stayed with Emily for another two months. A week before they had to leave town, she vanished. And he tried to find clues, asking her friends, family, the police – even asking his brother for help. But they came up empty. It happened two more times before he got suspicious. Because he’d never come across a trail so clean before.

Except for the times he’d trained with his brother. Every time they trained in the woods – no matter how much the elements were on his side – Sam always lost him. And Dean would always come up behind him, nagging him about his blindspots and “Haven’t I taught you better by now?” which is why Sam started paying more attention.

He didn’t get close to any female for months, watching his brothers reaction and knowing, just knowing, that nothing would happen so long as he stayed single. His brother got drunk one night, about a week before Halloween. Almost a year had gone by since Sam decidedly stopped flirting with the girls around them and Dean’s attitude had done a complete one-eighty.

It was on that night that he asked Dean for permission. The words burned his throat and if his brother hadn’t already been drunk, would’ve caught on to the bite in his words.

“Whaddaya need, Sammy?” Dean had asked, smile as loose as the rest of him on the motel bed next to Sam’s.

“Remember Linda?” he asks, mouth going dry at the slow turn of Dean’s head. “She, uh, wanted to study with me this week. Her normal study partner’s sick and there’s a test comin’ up.”

“Studyin’ Sam? Why’re you asking me about studyin’ with her?”

“B-because,” Sam says, hating how his hands are shaking in his lap. “If I don’t tell you whenever I stay out, you get upset.”

“Not that upset, Sammy.”

And Sam hates how comfortable his brother looks, eyes closed now that he’s bought Sam’s lie about studying with the girl.

“Not like with Emily?”

Dean’s eyes are openly watching him now, no trace of the drunken looseness he had moments ago as he sits up and flips off the lamp between them.

“Night Sam.”

Dean finds out about the date two days later. It’s one day before it’s supposed to happen and Linda’s talking to Dean with the soft smile Sam’s grown so fond of when he sees them.

“Hey Sam!” Linda says, moving to stand by him as she smiles at them both. “Your brother just stopped by to pick you up and recognized me. Didn’t know you talked about me that much.”

And while she’s blushing and staring at him, all Sam can feel is dread as he smiles back at her. Because he can feel his brother’s disapproval; knows Dean’s not gonna say a word about it and doesn’t know how to keep her safe.

“Just a little,” he says, trying to keep an eye on her and his brother’s reaction at the same time. “But I’ll see you tomorrow before he can embarrass me further, ok?”

The walk back to the car is tense, but they both wave at her as Dean puts the Impala in gear.

“Heard you got a lil date tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me it wasn’t a study date?”

They weren’t even halfway back to the motel and Sam’s mouth was completely dry. He wanted to yell at his brother, ask him why he always got so upset, why it was that even now Sam felt scared to be around him. But he couldn’t bring himself to accuse Dean. Couldn’t bring himself to accuse his brother of something like this.

“I don’t know,” he says after a few minutes, “guess I panicked.”

He wasn’t sure if his brother believed him. But he blasted Metallica for the rest of the ride and never mentioned it again.

The date went fine. Even though Sam couldn’t relax while they went to the movie or when they wandered into a park to talk a bit more. He walked her home and gave her hand a squeeze when he knew he should’ve tried for more, because he knew whose eyes were on them. And when he got back to the motel, only to realize it was empty, he felt all his blood drop down to his toes – leaving him shaking and cold from the inside out as he tried being rational.

Because his brother couldn’t be a killer. Surely his overprotective nature didn’t mean much more than that – not with their lifestyle and not with how their Dad raised them. But as the minutes turned into hours with Dean not returning any of his calls, he grabbed one of the sawed-off rocksalt shotguns they had and stuffed it into his backpack before heading out.

Linda wasn’t answering, either – not even her parents were picking up – and Sam ran back the way he’d come, sweating and out of breath by the time he got there, but no less cold as he picked the lock to Linda’s home. All the lights were on and the TV could be heard from the door, but Sam couldn’t hear anyone actually talking. So he sneaks up the stairs as best he can, going so far as holding his breath when he hears it.

“Knew you were up to something. Saw the way you were looking at him that day.” There’s a whimper and Sam’s hearts racing even though his minds absolutely frozen. “The way you were smiling at him the day I saw you at school I knew, knew you were a no good monster. So what are you, a shifter? A were?”

There’s a muffled sob and Sam’s hand numbly pushes open the door. There’s blood everywhere – on the bed and the floor, the drawers and vanity mirror, there’s even some in Dean’s hair – and Sam just can’t deal with any of it. He shakes his head, denying everything even as his peripheral gets a glimpse of what used to be Linda’s parents.

He takes a step back, still staring at the blood in his brother’s hair when Dean growls at him.

“Sam, stop.”

And for the first time in his life, Sam disobeys his brother.

He turns around and runs.

He’s down the stairs and just outside the door when his brother’s hand lands on his shoulder and yanks him back inside. His limbs are flailing and he can hear himself screaming “No, no, you’re not Dean, no” even as his brother pins him to the floor. “No, please no, Dean. Dean, no, please,” he says, distantly aware of the tears streaking down his face as Dean ties his hands behind his back with his belt.

“S’ok Sammy,” Dean says, helping him sit once Sam’s hands are tied to his liking. “Almost done with her now.”

“Dean,” Sam gasped, trying not to struggle too much in his brother’s hold as he’s forced to stand. “Don’t do this, man. They’re innocents.”

“Oh, but they’re not, Sammy.”

To this day, he can still remember the way Linda looked at him. At first with hope, then betrayal and finally with anger as his brother cut her to shreds. But he couldn’t do anything to help. He was just as bound and gagged as she was. And just knowing that it was his brother, his Dean, doing this made his mind scream so much denial that he barely remembered the ride back to the motel.

He tried telling his Dad when he finally came to enough to think, but Dean’s hard look stopped him dead. He could barely stomach a cereal every night and while Dean wasn’t bagging him as harshly as he usually would for not keeping up with their Dad’s training regime, it still grated on him to see his brother act like nothing was really wrong.

On the fifth day after it happened, Sam made the call to the police. His brother was in the shower and he gave them as much information as he could before hopping out of bed and going for a run. He ran maybe four miles before smashing his phone into pieces, then wandered around the city – alternating between a jog and a full-out run until the familiar roar of the Impala brought him to a halt.

“Sam!”

He turns and waves at Dean, swallowing everything he wants to say as he approaches the car.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean asks, getting out of the car and walking up to him. “And why the hell aren’t you answering your phone?”

“Dude,” Sam says, taking a step back and giving his brother his patented bitchface, “chill, I just went out for a run.”

Dean rubs a hand over his face as he looks at him, and mumbles an “Unbelievable,” as he gets back into the car. “Well?” he snaps when Sam continues to just stand there. “You done with your run yet or what?”

“Yeah.”

Two months pass where he replies with monosyllables to both their Dad and Dean. When the feds show up, plucking Dean from the mechanic shop he’d started working at, Sam barely feels a thing. His Dad works up a storm and they try to bust him out. Contacts end up giving them nothing they can use, no leverage to get Dean out cleanly.

And Sam’s stopped speaking to their father all-together now except with any information regarding Dean. A part of him realizes he’s in shock. Because he never thought they’d actually get him. Because it’s been so long and he can still feel Linda’s blood on him from where Dean grabbed him, hands still wet from what he’d done to the entire family.

Until he goes to visit Dean. His Dad doesn’t go because it’s too risky, he says. Can’t have them both locked up, which is true, but it has Sam’s blood pumping faster than it has since he walked into Linda’s home that night. And his hands are shaking just as badly when he gets to sit across his brother, his Dean who’s wearing orange instead of his dark shirts and worn jeans.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Dean’s hand is cupping his cheek, giving him a gentle smile Sam doesn’t ever remember seeing before.

“S’ok Sammy,” he says.

And all Sam can say is, “Sorry, I’m so sorry.”

But it’s been four years since then. And Dean’s only got two more left before he can walk freely.

Sam kisses Jess’ head before getting out of bed, grabbing a text and a pen off his desk, preparing himself for another sleepless night when he hears it. It’s soft, but the adrenaline singing in his veins is enough to get him on his feet and sneaking down the hall.

The silence is almost deafening in its sudden intensity and Sam’s cursing himself for not keeping any weapons closer to the room he shares with Jess as he sneaks into his kitchen, waiting to hear someone else’s breathing; a footstep or maybe the all-too familiar scent of leather and gun oil as the seconds tick by.

It’s the scruff of a boot or his crazy imagination that has him moving towards the living room and he catches a glimpse of the intruder, too dark to make out the features, but his hands are already moving – coming up to get the person into a lock position while the person in question begins to struggle. They spin and Sam kicks out, sure that his hit won’t miss, only to end up shoved back into the kitchen. He barely manages to avoid the punch thrown at him and the quick hand-to-hand battle lands him with his back on the floor and the person straddling him, a hand putting gentle pressure on his throat as the moon’s light gives just enough illumination for Sam to see who’s on top of him.

“Woah,” his brother says, a smile on his face, “easy there, tiger.”

“Dean?” he asks, unable to believe his eyes.

His brother gives him a hand the moment he gets off him, bringing Sam in for a hug. Belatedly, he realizes that he’s just standing there and hugs him back. It would probably be weird for brothers to greet like this, but they’re Winchesters and it’s Dean.

“You scared the crap out of me.” His laugh comes out a little awkwardly as he remembers Jess sleeping just down the hall and why it is that his brother was gone for so long.

“That’s cuz you’re out of practice,” Dean says, opening the fridge and looking inside.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for a beer, what else?”

“Yeah,” Sam says with a snort, “real funny.”

“Got out early,” he says, closing the fridge and looking up at Sam. And even in the dark, Sam can see just how green his brother’s eyes really are and feels himself relaxing as they stand there, staring at each other.

Until footsteps pull their attention to Jess, who’s standing there in nothing but her smurf shirt and short shorts. Sam remembers her laugh when she first showed him her sleepwear, completely unashamed of how childish it was and just as free with herself in her clothes as she was out of them.

“Hey,” she says, looking at Sam then at Dean. “Thought I heard something.”

“You know,” Dean says, with a smile that’s charmed more women than Sam cares to remember, “I really do love the smurfs.”

“Let me go put something on,” is her reply as she walks back out.

Dean’s staring at him, that same smile turning even more lewd the longer Sam watches and he huffs out a laugh, pushing his brother away and enjoying the laugh he gets out of Dean, too.

“It’s good to see you, man.”

The worst part is, none of it is a lie. And seeing Dean standing in his kitchen, smiling at him, brings out an ache in his chest that he’d thought Jess filled.

“I came back,” Dean mumbles, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, “for you, Sammy.”

“So,” Jess says, coming to stand by Sam’s side, “I didn’t get a proper introduction. My name’s Jess.” She’s standing in jeans and one of Sam’s sweatshirts, still barefoot, and for some reason Sam’s suddenly wishing she was wearing quite a few more layers to keep her from his brother’s inquisitive eyes.

“Dean,” his brother replies, shaking her hand before going back to the same spot he’d been in. “Sam’s brother.”

“Oh, he’s Dean?” she asks, smiling up at Sam. “Want me to leave you guys alone to catch up? Sam’s told me it’s been a few years since you two had last seen each other.”

“Nah,” Dean says, smile too friendly for Sam’s liking. “Don’t worry about it, I just wanted to let him know I was in the area, but I might be gone in a few hours.”

Jess’ face falls at Dean’s words, but Sam can’t keep himself from blurting out, “You’re leaving? Already?”

He feels Jess give his hand a squeeze as she excuses herself from the room, and he and his brother don’t say a word until they can hear the click of the bedroom door.

“What,” Dean starts, smile turning cold and dead, “want me to hang around, Sammy? You want me to watch her put her paws all over you? Because I can’t do that, Sam. I won’t. And no one’s gonna catch me if I decide to target her, you hear me? You’re mine, Sammy.”

Sam’s head spinning and he leans against the fridge to keep himself standing as he watches his brother – the same brother who’d cut Linda to pieces, the one who’d taken him back to the hotel room and carefully washed all the blood and tears off him – and lets out a hoarse sob as he realizes just what his brother’s become.

“Please,” he says.

“Don’t,” Dean snaps. “You start begging and I’ll go in there right now, tear that flesh off her body and take you away where none of these people can touch you. I’m trying here, Sammy. Really. I can give you a few days. Maybe even a week while I get used to life on the outside. But I will be back for you.”

“Dean,” Sam begs, sinking down to the floor as his tears start falling. “Dean, don’t. I-I have an interview. I was gonna have a life, man. Wh-white picket fence and a career. A real career, Dean. I just, I’ll go with you, Dean. Just leave her alone.”

“That what you want, Sammy? The white picket fence and the two-point-five kids with the apple pies and paying taxes like the average Joe?”

“Yes.”

Dean sniggers, moves closer then crouches until their faces are inches apart.

“We’re Winchesters, Sam. We’re not average Joe’s.”

Sam reaches out blindly, grabbing onto Dean’s jacket and pulling him closer, letting out another sob when his brother moves so that their lips meet. It’s horrible and wrong and Sam tries to push him away, but Dean’s got one hand gripping the back of his head and the other lightly pressing against his windpipe.

What’s worse is that all the adrenaline and confusion is mixing with the hard heat of his brother, making Sam’s body react in a way he’d never expected it to anywhere near Dean. And when Dean’s lips leave his to mouth at his jaw and neck, his hips move the tiniest bit up, seeking more and the hand that had released his neck gripped his hips, keeping Sam from moving and drawing out a needy sound from him.

“God,” Dean breathed, “Sammy. Need you, Sammy. My Sammy. Mine.”

And Sam can’t deny any of it. Even with the tears still pouring from his eyes, and his heart racing with the thoughts of what could happen to Jess, he knows it’s true.

“Dean,” he whispers, fingers moving to grip his brothers face. “Dean, Dean, not here. Man, Dean, not here.”

That’s when he sees it again. The coldness inside his brother that he fears most, the thing that makes Dean so merciless that he’s only satisfied when he’s coated the entire area in red.

“Please, Dean. I-”

“Shh,” Dean says, kissing him and pulling them both to their feet. “I got a motel a little bit away.”

And even though Sam’s stomach drops at the idea of what that implies, of what he’s just done with Dean, Sam nods. Because he’s the only one who can keep his brother away from others. Even if he never gets the two-point-five kids, he can keep others safe. Until one day, maybe, a hunter comes along and kills them both for being the monsters most people are afraid of.

He just prays it’s enough to keep Jess safe…


End file.
